


V is for Viagra

by csquared225



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dammit Tony, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Nesting Clint Barton, Oral Sex, Pining, Viagra, tony stark is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csquared225/pseuds/csquared225
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is so never taking any drugs that Tony gives him ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	V is for Viagra

**Author's Note:**

> A cross-post from my tumblr. Taken from Renner's story of accidentally taking Viagra on a flight instead of Ambien, the cutie pie. Also, sort of dubcon? Clint has taken Viagra but is in control of his mental faculties and JARVIS could alert someone if he was in trouble. But a warning in case this kind of situation squicks you.

It had all been over a lack of sleep.

He wasn’t always willing to down a pill to make him sleep, but his insomnia had gotten to ridiculous Stark-like proportions, it had been five days, okay? He’d even take the fucking nightmares that came with sleep (his own fingers curled around Loki’s staff this time, plunging it deep into Phi—Coulson’s back, twisting it and leaving him there to bleed out).

So when Tony had apparently tried to brush up on his “being a bro” skills and offered him a small blue pill that looked like it had an A on it for Ambien, he near snatched it out of his hands and had dry swallowed it right then and there. Then retreated to his nest to sleep, missing the gleeful smirk Tony was aiming at his back.

Now here he was, nursing an erection that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he fucked into his fist. It was hard (oh, funny, Barton) enough to get himself off like this at all, but when orgasm did come it wasn’t long before his cock was twitching eagerly again. After the fourth time, he whined and slumped down into his nest, which he’d have to clean now since it smelled explicitly of sex and sweat.

"Thanks for being a bro, JARVIS," he mumbled sarcastically as he closed his eyes, curling up into a ball. The AI could have given him a heads up as to what was in the damn pill, he had free will, he wasn’t a mindless robot. He sulked quietly. It took the human body ten days to shut down without any sleep. He just didn’t think he’d be sane by the end of it…

———

Phil had been quietly reading mission reports at his desk, enjoying the soft jazz music playing courtesy of JARVIS, sighing at the ones he’d deemed ‘needs work’ (they included Thor’s insistence on writing his reports in ballads that were Shakespearean in nature, Tony’s half-assed 100 words, and Clint’s refusal to use commas in sentences).

”Agent Coulson.”

Phil blinked and looked up from his report. He knew that the AI wasn’t actually in the ceiling, but everyone, including Tony, looked up where his voice emanated from anyway. JARVIS didn’t talk to him unless Phil was requesting something, it was time for one of the three meals of a day (in which he was often wrangled to drag Tony or Bruce out of their respective labs), they were under attack, or other more mundane reasons. He hoped that this was one of those times; it wasn’t anywhere near time for dinner.

"JARVIS?"

"…"

This made him sit up straighter and get to his feet. JARVIS never hesitated, not unlike his creator in that respect.

"JARVIS, what’s going on?"

"…It appears that Agent Barton is in distress, sir. He has…requested your assistance. In a sense. He is in his nest on his floor."

Phil decided he didn’t need to know why it was “in a sense”, or why there was a guilty tone to the AI’s voice that he only heard after Tony had really screwed up—already out the door and into the elevator speeding up to the floor right beneath the penthouse; Clint had been pleased as punch that Tony had given him such a high floor on the Tower.

He didn’t wait for the doors to open fully before sprinting flat out down the hall, ignoring the master bedroom for the recreation room a few doors down. He launched himself at the ladder at the edge of the farthest wall and climbed quickly and efficiently to the top, the paused.  
Clint was curled up in the corner farthest from the door in his nest. It was an alcove off of the room that he had requested in the floor plans, comprised of a spread of clothes and blankets and some sticks Tony had jokingly given him once that the archer had kept in defiance of some sort, and pillows and even a few stuffed animals; mostly hawks that had been gag gifts but that Phil knew he secretly liked anyway.

He was looking much more flushed than usual, and Phil had seen him after a fifteen mile hike through the Argentinian jungle after…well. It was a long story.

He approached slowly, voice level and even as it ever was on the comms. His own face flushed as he inhaled the scent of sweat and sex and Clint.

"Clint? Status report."

———

Clint groaned and tugged one of the fluffier comforters over his head. Sure, Phil had seen him at his worst, dying and sick and tortured and hypothermic and morphed from an interesting incident a few months ago where Amora had made him sprout feathers (molting was a bitch, man). But not like this.

"G’way," he mumbled, pressing his knees harder to his chest. This only served to make his erection throb stronger, and he whined. This was NOT the kind of help he’d meant, JARVIS. He heard the AI apologize, and realized he’d groaned it out loud.

Phil let some of his worry slip through into his expression. He’d seen Clint endure so much, but he’d never heard that noise come from him before.

"Clint," his first name that was only used in the most dire of situations, "what’s wrong?"

"Agent Barton’s temperature is currently rising towards 103 degrees Fahrenheit and his pulse is significantly elevated—"

"Shaddup, JARVIS. Mute." Clint growled, and the AI went silent. Everyone normally hated to use that, respected JARVIS as the person that he technically wasn’t. Except for times like this.  
…He’d apologize later. Maybe. He didn’t have to look up to know that Coulson had that half-disappointed, half-worried look he got when Clint refused to go to Medical.

"Clint, what’s wrong? JARVIS wouldn’t have called me up here unless it was serious."

Clint turned to send him his strongest puppy eyes, the ones he used when he was feeling really vulnerable and couldn’t sleep or go to Medical or Tasha was out on a really dangerous mission somewhere or someone mentioned Loki “Please don’t make me talk about this Phil pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease”. But apparently JARVIS’s diagnosis coupled with how bad he looked made Phil simply give him one of his own Looks, the “I’m really worried about you and you’re not getting out of this one.” Clint sighed in resignation.

"Tony gave me—"

"Oh, Clint…"

"I know, okay? But he’s not always being a dick, he has his moments (even though our bromance isso over now)—and it had an A on it, so I thought it was an Ambien—I was sleepy okay? Haven’t slept for a while, and I was fucking desperate. I think I should be able to trust the  
guy who makes my suits and arrows—”

“Clint—”

"He’s such a jackhole! I don’t know what Rogers sees in him, fucking Star Spangled Boy Scout—"

“CLINT.”

Oops. He’d crossed into insulting Phil’s hero. Way to fucking go, Barton. Can’t do anything right. He huffed and glared up at his handler, noting with resignation that Coulson did in fact look offended on behalf of Steve.

In fact, Phil was more offended on Clint’s behalf than anything else. He was going to taze Stark the next time he saw him and leave him drooling on the floor while he watched Duck Dynasty.  
Clint huffed and burst out, ”It was a Viagra, okay?! The thing I thought was an A was a V for fucking Viagra, so now I have an erection that won’t go away and I’ve jacked off like four times already, and chafing, Coulson!”

The archer whined out, flopping onto his back. It was the only way he wouldn’t get any friction, though his hips did pump into the air in minute pulses, as if he was doing kegel exercises. Which he did. But that was for another time.

Phil firmly kept his eyes on Clint’s face but only by force of will. He ran a hand over his face to compose himself and then locked his eyes back on Clint.

"Surely there’s something else you could take, or an actual Ambien—"

"I apologize for interrupting sirs, but my scans indicate that another controlled substance entering Agent Barton’s body at this time would be ill-advised. Another method of relief would be much more prudent."

Both Phil and Clint glared at the ceiling. JARVIS wisely said nothing else.

"Alright then, we simply wear you out, then. I assume a distraction wouldn’t suffice…I take it you aren’t willing to go to the range right now?"

Clint shook his head, dismissing it quickly for someone whose usual method of distraction was, indeed, that. He must really have been uncomfortable.

"Can’t stand up, way too uncomfortable. Guess it’s just me and my hand again."

There was an almost pointed silence from the ceiling. Clint’s expression grew pinched. “But that won’t be enough, will it?” Another silence. He sighed, and swallowed hard. His eyes closed, and Phil watched with a clench to his belly. It was nearly identical to how Clint had looked right before he disobeyed orders and abandoned the op to go bring in Natasha instead of kill her. It had been a hard decision. He visibly stuffed down his pride.

"Phil, I know that you don’t like me that way, I’ve come onto you enough times to know that. But you’ve always been willing to go above and beyond to help me, and I’ll beg if I have to." He sighed again. "Phil Coulson, with you please have sex with me so I don’t like, die or something?"

Phil blinked at him. Then blinked again. He pinched the skin on the back of his hand. No, this was not actually one of his raunchier sex dreams. Get a grip, Phil.

The uncharacteristic action seemed to have relaxed the archer a little bit; some of the color he had lost while waiting for his answer had returned. “So, is that a ‘fuck no, get away from me’, or…?”

Phil took a deep breath.

"Are you completely certain, Clint? I know that Natasha is on a mission, but I know Jane wouldn’t mind if Thor—"

Clint gave him a flat stare.

"I’m not doing that to them, Phil." The Avengers liaison was liking the sound of his first name on Clint’s lips. He attempted to focus again. "I don’t trust anyone else with this but you. Not even Tasha," he admitted. "Please? I told you I’d beg—wait, you—I’m not—I’m not gonna fucking rape you if you don’t want this though, Phil—"

"It would NOT be rape, Clint," Phil quickly assured him. "Not on your part, but you’re not in your right mind—"

"I already signed your name on my fuck-or-die consent form for SHIELD years ago, okay? This isn’t the exact same thing, but—JARVIS can confirm it—"

"I believe you."

It was silent again for a bit. Phil was wavering again. Tony was with Pepper, but she’d understand if, given the circumstances, he had to help Clint—

His only warning was a familiar frustrated groan and movement out of the corner of his eye as Clint pounced on him.

He grunted and automatically angled his body to absorb the blow, keep Clint from hurting himself even more. He felt like he was swimming in molasses himself as Clint easily maneuvered them so that the archer was pinning him down, perched on his lap. Phil tugged at him half-heartedly.

"Clint, you don’t want this—"

"I think I can decide for myself what I do and don’t want." Clint interrupted him, and grinded down into his lap again, eyes flashing triumphantly at the hiss this provoked out of his handler. "Besides, you clearly want this. Not gonna pass down a chance to shut up the smartmouth who’s been sassing you all these years, are you Coulson? Stuff your dick down my throat, make me choke on it—"

“Clint,” Phil growled, and his fingers twitched. They clearly had no problem expressing just how much they liked that idea. Traitors. “That’s not what I—I mean—” Of course he’d thought about it. How could he not have? Clint was…gorgeous. And he’d often wished for something to shut him up with.

But he also wanted to take his time, lay Clint out and find every sensitive spot he had with his mouth, take him apart with his tongue. Make him beg for him and scream his name until he was hoarse.

Apparently this desire was being reflected in his eyes, because the archer who normally always had a comeback for everything seemed to swallow his tongue and go silent. Phil couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy it at all.

So he went with the first thing he could think of and tugged Clint’s head down, lips meeting his. It was an awkward kiss at first, a surprise on Clint’s half and tentativeness on Phil’s. But they both relaxed soon enough and were tilting heads, stroking with tongues, and nipping at lips as the chemistry that had always simmered between them flared up into a blaze.

Clint’s always deft hands were pawing all over him, as if he was trying to memorize what Phil’s body felt like like he’d never get it again (and like he’d want to—Phil’s mind refused to acknowledge this). His own hands were stroking and squeezing at Clint’s arms and back, soaking in how strong and firm the toned muscles felt. He squeezed briefly at his ass and finally let loose a real grin when Clint yelped in surprise.

"Always knew you liked my ass, Coul—Phil," Clint easily smoothed over his little hiccup, grinning back at him. He let out a grunt when Phil slapped his left rear cheek lightly.

"And you loved every second of knowing I was watching your ass," the senior agent countered, giving the other a light slap as well. Clint huffed, but didn’t deny it, and rolled his hips sinuously against him, grinning smugly when Phil let out a broken moan.

"You really do love this, don’t you?" He then hopped off of him, and shook his head at the look Phil gave him. "I’m not a tease, Coulson. Well. Not that much of one." He slithered down his body and before Phil could get his brain together, was zipping him open and tugging him out, licking a stripe up his cock.

His eyes widened and then narrowed and closed as Clint swallowed him down in one gulp, nose brushing the sparse hairs of his pelvis, inhaling greedily. He wasn’t exactly small, and only his girlfriend from college had ever been able to take him down that quickly, and even she had needed at least two tries.

"Fuck, Clint," he gasped, hands hesitating over his head. The question of whether or not to pull his hair was solved when a bow calloused hand yanked his own down to rest on his head. He grasped the longer than usual strands immediately and tugged lightly, grinding his teeth together when this got him a vibrating moan around his cock.

He alternated in tugging and pressing Clint’s head back down, not giving into the urge to fuck his face just yet, though he knew if this continued that it would come to it. Clint was like a damn Hoover, and the way his cheekbones were showed off as he did it? He couldn’t take his eyes off of him. In short, he was entirely too good at this and he found himself shoving away jealousy at how he had gotten to be so good.

"Clint? If you keep going for much longer I’m going to come too soon and I don’t have a little blue pill to help me along," he warned him (sadly far too soon after he’d finally gotten to thrust into Clint’s mouth without abandon), balls twitching urgently. Clint made a sad noise around his cock that made him bite back another moan himself, and pulled back. He grinned when Phil gave him a flabbergasted look.

"How did you—"

"Sword swallowing," came the harried explanation. Hm. Perhaps his jealousy could be abated now? But Clint was gorgeous, surely he’d had other partners— "Come on, Coulson, open me up, need your cock like, yesterday." Right. Back to business.

He couldn’t have argued with that if he’d wanted to. He took the lube his asset—archer—lover?—pressed hastily into his hand, squeezing some onto his fingers and rubbing the digits together quickly to warm them up. He found himself rolling his eyes in a familiarly fond way when Clint whined impatiently, like he did when Phil sat him down and made him type out a longer report, didn’t let him sit shotgun on their way to an op, checked on the cut on his head (“It’s a head wound, Coulson, of course it’s gonna bleed more— But I don’t wanna go to Medical again!”).

It was nice to have something familiar to fall back onto as he gently breached Clint with his fingers, starting with one and gradually adding more as Clint gave him permission. The other was both annoyed and gratified that Phil waited each time to add another finger, annoyed that he was taking so long and gratified that Phil wasn’t just taking what he wanted. He’d known he was the right man to give this to.

When he was about to add a fourth, he shook his head and then made a face when Phil drew back.

"No, don’t stop—I mean, that’s enough, get in me already," he said, hastily dragging him back. Phil relaxed, and made a muffled noise of surprise when Clint dragged him down for a kiss, trying to project how grateful he was, how much he wanted this and something else he wasn’t willing to put into words yet because it was never going to be returned and he had to be okay with that.

Phil was panting when they drew apart, and for a lack of anything to say that didn’t involve the word “love”, he slicked himself up, then paused.

"No condoms—"

"Don’t worry about it, we’re both clean, right? Phil." Clint glared at him, the tremble of his lower lip giving away how nervous he really was. "Fuck me."

He’d never been good at not giving the archer what he needed, and lined himself up, meeting his eyes as he pushed in, in case he needed him to slow down. Clint’s face twisted a little when he thrust in to the hilt.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, forgetting his usual question of "Status report" in the wake of Clint’s pinched expression.

"M’fine, just gimme a sec. Been a while since I was on the receiving end." That answered the question of whether or not he’d had other partners, thought Phil. Clint had other things on his mind. ‘Last time I had this wasn’t too long after I realized how good your ass looked in that suit,’ the archer thought, licking his lips. After a few seconds he rocked his hips back into the older man’s; they both groaned in pleasure. "Fuck, that’s good. Come on, give it to me."

Phil gave it to him. Hips snapping and brow pinched, as if this were any other mission that he was focusing on, but it was his eyes that betrayed how different this was, emotions swirling that made the commitment-phobic and emotionally wrecked part of Clint want to curl up and hide away. But the vulnerable side that had wanted to see that in Phil’s eyes for him for so long soaked it up eagerly, and he found his legs locking tighter around Phil’s trim waist. The man had lost too much weight on bedrest from being stabbed, and hadn’t quite regained all of his muscle yet.

Eventually, though, Clint had to say something to release the tension, and gasped as Phil stroked deep into him again, shaking his head when he paused.

"No, I’m fine, it’s just… So deep, fuck. You’ve got a fucking monster cock, Coulson, where’ve you been hiding this thing?" Phil snorted and rolled his hips in again, letting himself grin for the first time since this thing started as Clint moaned, a long, drawn out one like when he was able to move after being on a cold rooftop for six hours straight. One of utmost satisfaction and pleasure. The moans had always made him adjust himself in his pants then, and only made him thrust deeper now.

"I’m hardly porn star material, but thank you. Now, if you’re still talking, my ‘monster cock’ isn’t doing its job." He heard Clint start to protest, and shut him up with a build-up to something of a rhythm again, sliding his hands down to Clint’s hips and gripping tightly, increasing pressure only when he received a moan of assent. So being marked was a kink of Clint’s….he’d remember that. …No, that implied that they’d be doing this again, and he wasn’t that lucky of a man.

He kept up his rhythm this time, never faltering, and his chest swelled with pride when Clint started to let out higher-pitched moans, whines and mumbles that sounded close to his name, as if he was trying to bite them back. He’d heard Clint jerk off before; it was a necessary evil when they were on stakeouts and waiting for the mark to show up for Clint to take out. And now he realized what Clint had been gasping all of those times…his name. More hope blossomed, not squished down by pessimist thoughts this time. Maybe Clint really wanted him.

"Wanted this for so long, Clint," Phil murmured, smiling a little when Clint flushed darker but refused to look at him. "You feel so good, can feel you getting tighter." That worked; the Avenger bit his lip and finally looked up at him.

"Fuck, Co—Phil, gonna make me come," Clint wheezed, tightening around him. He was clawing at his back now, and Phil was going to savor those marks for as long as they lasted. "Just a little more, right there—”

"Just let go, come for me, Clint, so beautiful, come on," Phil soothed him, hiking his legs up higher to go even deeper; Clint howled and clamped down around him one more time. It set Phil off, and he spurted inside of his archer, squeezing muscles milking him of every drop. They laid panting together, Phil on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush Clint.

"So," Clint shifted and winced as Phil’s softening cock slid halfway out, then pulled free fully of him, come quickly following. "I guess…thanks. For that." He stared up at the ceiling, expression blank. This was why he usually endeavored to fall asleep after sex, then sneak out in the middle of the night or the morning, to avoid the awkwardness. He was shit at pillow talk. But for some reason his brain refused to move his body to do any of those things now. Traitor.

Phil eyed him carefully. It was a bit of a struggle to focus on Clint’s blank expression and not how gorgeous he looked laid out like that, his reddened hole where Phil’s come was leaking down his cheeks… He shook himself. Clint’s emotional well-being came first.

"Would you like me to leave?" he asked slowly. The archer shrugged, a bittersweet smile on his face.

"Don’t let me stop you."

It wasn’t as if anything Phil had said in the heat of the moment was true. It was sex talk, people did it all the time. He didn’t himself; every thing he had gasped out was the truth. He loved Phil so damn much. Always would, even though he knew it couldn’t ever be returned. No one loved Clint Barton.

That wasn’t a yes, Phil told himself. It made his chest hurt in a manner that was not at all caused by the scar there, that Clint expected him to leave him alone after this, that people had done that to him before. He took a leap of faith and slowly laid himself out on his side, reaching out to brush his hands through Clint’s hair, much more gently than when he’d been thrusting him down on his cock. This startled his former asset, and he smiled softly when confused and tentatively hopeful green-blue eyes met his.

Why wasn’t he leaving? Clint wondered, swallowing hard. His heartbeat was climbing again, and he could barely breathe for his tight chest. He’d “helped” him, what… “What are you doing?”

Phil sighed and shook his head, as if Clint was being difficult.

"Clint, I didn’t do that just because I wanted to help you,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve wanted to do that for years. I care about you, I’d hoped you knew that by now. That means I’m not going to have sex with you and then leave. It means I want to lay down and cuddle with you and hold you until the morning.”

Clint looked gobsmacked, cheeks pinker than before, and mouth hanging open.

"Wha—I…"

He looked away, sucking in a breath when a firm but gentle hand tipped his chin back towards his handler—lover? Cold front aside, he all but melted into the tender kiss he was given, and made a very embarrassing purring noise that he would be horrified about later. So much for holding his own and letting them part as at least friendly colleagues, he was so bad at this, dammit Clint!

He blinked when he received a sharp tap to the cheek, what Ph—Coulson always did when he went into one of his states, or after a nightmare or when he fell asleep with his eyes open (it had freaked the fuck out of Stark the first time, and maybe that could be how he exacted his revenge—).

"Phi—Coul—I don’t understand," he admitted, big puppy eyes gazing up at his handler in confusion. An almost hurt expression, like he believed Phil was mocking him. Phil never mocked him.

It made Phil’s mouth turn down and his eyes go sad.

"I care about you, Clint. I—I really do." Way to be a coward, Phil. He winced. "I mean—"

"C—Phil. Just…I need to tell you something first." Clint shifted in place. Phil furrowed his brow, but gestured for him to go ahead. The archer took a deep breath, and squared his jaw.

"I love you, Phil. Since the moment your bullet entered my leg and I looked up and saw that unassuming G-Man who had just taken me down." He shrugged, face blank even as tears flowed down his face. "And I know it’s not returned or anything, but I guess you deserve to know."

Phil scoffed, and then winced as Clint flinched. Wrong approach.

"Clint, you’re not hearing what I’m telling you. I’m not a one night stand type of person." Clint was staring at him blankly, as if Phil had told him Fury really was a pirate and the moon was made of cheese that Thor ate on his way back to Asgard on the rainbow bridge. Phil huffed out a soft laugh. "I love you too, Clint. I have for years and years, and I know I always will." He shrugged and smiled bashfully; it was so uncharacteristic of him that Clint’s heart skipped an extra beat.

There were a few agonizing seconds in which Clint stared at him scrutinizingly, closer than he’d ever seen him stare at a mark through a scope, across the street down onto the cobblestoned roads. It was clearly the most intense workover he’d ever given a person. Then…

"You’re serious." The biggest smile Phil had ever seen on Clint’s face blossomed, and he oomph’ed as he was tackled backwards onto the nest, with a happy, wriggly archer on his chest. His scar twinged and Clint looked immediately repentant, but he shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"Worth it. I swear, Clint, I’m not lying. We both love each other, and all it took was some Viagra from Stark to figure it out. …He’s never going to let us live this down, is he?" He sighed and mock-glared at Clint, who burst into laughter. "He’ll be smug for years, Clint!"

"Yeah, he will. But we owe him big. Never would’ve gotten our heads outta our asses to see what was obvious all along, right?" Clint shrugged and nuzzled into the crook of Phil’s neck, inhaling. He got to do this now, and didn’t have to blame it on sex, could do it just because he wanted to. Phil-smell meant home, safety, and apparently, love. He hesitated, drawing back. "So, that means…you’ll stay?" Clint shuffled a little and looked around. Phil had seen his nests before, but this was so much more intimate. "I know it’s kind of messy, but…" Phil shook his head fondly and pecked his cheek.

"Clint, I am not leaving unless you want me to leave."

The archer’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink and he quickly tugged a blanket over the both of them. Phil smiled fondly and tucked his agent’s—no, his lover’s—head under his own chin and closed his eyes.

Before he could fall asleep though, he made one last request to JARVIS.

———

"There’s a message for you, sir." Tony waved off his AI’s alert.

"Thanks, J. Just put it with the others, I’m sure I’ve got a lot of junk piled up—"

"This is from Agent Coulson. …And Agent Barton."

Tony looked up from the metal he’d been soldering and blinked.

"Both of them? Huh… Open it up, I guess."

There was a video of Clint—hey, hadn’t he left him with a raging erection? Why did he look so happy?—and Phil—whoa, that was—and they were naked, and cuddling, cooing pet names to each other, the sheets slid back to reveal parts he never wanted to see (even if he could admit that Agent Agent was packing)—

"JESUS FUCK! COULSON?!?! MY EYES! JARVIS, TURN IT OFF!"

**The End (?)**


End file.
